


Times, they are a-changin'

by Eligh



Series: Legends [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Len's worried, M/M, Mick's a shit, spoilers for 1x02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5872600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eligh/pseuds/Eligh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Len's thrown by how strongly seeing Savage holding a gun to Mick's head affected him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Times, they are a-changin'

“I wanna talk about how ya looked in that suit ya wore to the arms auction,” Mick said, stepping in from the corridor and letting the door slide shut behind him. “I got opinions about that suit.”

Len glanced up from where he was washing his face at the tiny sink that passed for a vanity in his shipboard quarters. Mick was posed thoughtfully in the doorway and wearing nothing more than a grin and his firepants held up by suspenders—a normally very enticing sight. But when Len looked at him right now he didn’t see the abs or biceps or easy muscle he so often admired on his partner in crime, his friend, his occasional fuck buddy. All he seemed to be able to focus on was the spreading bruise against Mick’s right side and the fresh slice at his temple, not quite scabbed over yet.

“I’m not in the mood,” Len told him, short and clipped, and the smile slipped from Mick’s face.

“What’s yer problem?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled. “Violence with us winning always gets ya going.”

“Yeah, well,” Len spat, throwing his washcloth with a touch too much force in the direction of the laundry chute. “We didn’t really win tonight.”

“Carter was an asshole,” Mick said after a moment, now leaning back against the wall next to the door. He knew better than to approach when Len was in a mood like this, and Len was appreciative, though not for the reason Mick may have thought. Previous experience had taught Mick that crowding a seething Len resulted in a quick belt to the chin, but right now—well, suffice to say that it was all Len could do to fight the urge to pull Mick close, breathe him in.

But that certainly wasn’t what their relationship was like, so Len settled for being silently grateful for the distance, understood or not.

Mick watched him with his head cocked, but then when Len didn’t say anything further, he tipped his head back against the bulkhead. “Except Hawkboy dying isn’t what’s got ya all riled.”

“He had a gun to your head,” Len snapped, and sat hard on his bunk. “He had a fucking gun to your head, Mick, and I was frozen behind a goddamn cage.”

“’m fine,” Mick said carefully, and Len chewed his lip. He didn’t want to be coddled.

“I know you’re fine,” he said, and then sighed and flopped backward on the bunk, closing his eyes. “I know. It isn’t the first time you’ve had a gun to your head.”

“It ain’t even the first time this month,” Mick agreed, his voice sounding closer. And when Len looked up, Mick had gravitated to the end of the bunk. He looked thoughtful. “Ya stuck a shotgun in my face two weeks ago.”

Len narrowed his eyes. “You’re perfectly aware that I’d never pull the trigger.”

“‘Never’ ‘s a pretty broad claim,” Mick said, smiling again. “Careful, I might hold ya to that.” Len sighed at him, and Mick rounded the end of the bunk and gingerly settled next to him on the mattress, favoring what was probably going to turn out to be bruised ribs. “’m really fine. Bruised a little, but it’s nothin’ I ain’t had b’fore. Hell, I’ve been hurt worse fightin’ that speed-freak kid ya got a crush on.”

“I don’t have a—” Len growled, rounding on Mick, but Mick caught the side of his face and tilted his chin up, catching Len mid-denial with chapped lips cutting off any protest. Len melted a little—dangerous with this man—and reciprocated the kiss, closing his eyes, softening his mouth and letting Mick take charge, press in his tongue.

After a moment, Mick pulled away slightly, going just far enough that they could rest their foreheads together. “I worry about ya, too,” he said softly. “Yer all I got, Lenny.”

They stilled, letting the silence between them stretch comfortably. Len breathed deep, savoring the smell of woodsmoke that always seemed to cling to Mick no matter how thoroughly he showered, and probed gingerly at the thought that leaving 2016 on Hunter’s fool’s errand might have changed something between Mick and himself. Changed for the better, maybe. “Stay with me tonight?” he asked, and felt Mick’s forehead crinkle when he smiled.

“Course. You should suck my cock. And y’should wear that suit when ya do it.”

Len leaned back, exasperated. “You’re awful. I thought we were having a moment.”

Mick leered and waggled his eyebrows. “I’ll give ya more than just a moment, Cold.”

“Watch your mouth,” Len threatened, mostly ineffective due to the grin trying to spill over. “Or you’ll come back to your quarters covered in six inches of ice.”

“I’ll just bunk with you,” Mick said agreeably, and stretched out on Len’s bunk, his muscles bunching tantalizingly against the sheets. “Doubt you’ll complain much.”

Len hummed noncommittally and followed him down.

“The suit, Lenny!” Mick protested, but Len just smirked and went about shutting him up.

**Author's Note:**

> Well this ship came right the fuck out of nowhere and I'M OKAY WITH THAT


End file.
